The Female of the Species
by Fernstrike
Summary: Uru. Sarabi. Nala. Three lionesses. Three different eras. These are the stories of mothers, queens, and huntresses; of the selfless, the dutiful, the strong; the wise, the wily, the wary. These are the tales of the fiercest females of the savannah, as the sun rises and sets over the Pridelands.
1. MOTHER

_**A/N:**_ _The title of this story is taken from Kipling's poem of the same name. Please be aware that I freely pick and choose among canon and semi-canon, so this fic is often fairly AU. I also - selectively - include real-life lion behavioural patterns in this. Please be warned for some violence, character death, and some mature themes (though there is absolutely nothing explicit)._

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Part I:

MOTHER

There was a throbbing, pulsing pain somewhere low in her gut, coming in spasms and leaving her exhausted after each push against her innards. Was she in that field again, far from Pride Rock, nestled among grasses in a hollow, ringed in by rocks and safe from other creatures? She could certainly smell the blood - but this was a different kind of blood. There was nothing hopeful in it, no joy in this agony; it was not speckled over the fresh, new fur of her first son, the bigger child, golden as the sunrise. And she could hear rattling gourds, and low chanting - not the keening mewling of her second born as he slid into the world, his brilliant emerald eyes still shut away from the dawn as she took him by the scruff and put him at her belly. Her tongue was not rasping over their fur, warming them, cleaning them, whispering prayers and dreams and promises to them. It was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and everything reeked, metallic and rotten. This was not the taste of birth, she realised - this was the taste of death. The similarity almost brought her comfort.

Dimly, the visions and illusions gave way to waking. Under the shamanic sounds above her head, Uru was aware of the silence, a savannah holding its breath. She could see a low light behind the lids of her darkening eyes. As the pain surged again, dull and yet still potent, everything came back to her, swamping her mind in flashes of sun-drenched images.

It had happened on the hunt.

She'd been out with the other lionesses, keeping an eye on Sarabi and Sarafina. They were still so young, and yet so light on their feet, lithe as they moved through the grasses, padding over soft patches and sidestepping brittle twigs. She'd hardly needed to guide them – they took to the role of huntresses so naturally. Sarabi, with her fierceness and bold directions to the smaller lioness. Sarafina, with her swift, calculated efficiency, her focused tenacity. It had been going so well. The two had already brought down a gazelle despite the encroaching drought that was limiting the herds. Pride surged through her, as though they were her own daughters. All their doubts and worry for their first hunt had come to nothing after all. Success was their province.

Uru's pride had swelled to excitement. With the girls' training well under way, very soon she'd be able to take her own children on a proper hunt, beyond stalking birds and mice within shouting distance of Pride Rock. They could go for days out in the savannah, tracking and bringing down the most difficult prey. No matter that the brothers would likely stay together when they came of age – hunting was a skill worth having, and she was master of it as Ahadi was master of kingship. Already this day her sons were out on patrol with their father, learning the lay of the land and its myriad inhabitants with deeper intricacy than they had as cubs. As he did, she would share everything she knew with them, every skill and lesson and tactic she'd garnered over her short years on this earth. Things that would help them work wonders. Things that would make them into the most noble and valiant princes the Pridelands had ever seen.

And then, in the midst of her haze of joy, the two youngest lionesses had found themselves in the middle of a herd of water buffalo.

What happened next, Uru could not recall with full clarity. She'd been separated from them in her musings, and she'd run then, hearing their screams, run with a blind, protective fierceness. It was a huge herd – it was a violent herd. She had said _something_ to the one she took for its leader, the one who stood knee-deep in the waterhole, claiming it with a baying roar. She did not even remember being struck, being carried away by the brave, intrepid young lionesses, back to the rest of the hunting party, back to Pride Rock, back to a shaman who for all his skill could not heal a lioness gored in the side.

"I am sorry, my king," came a voice, drawing her out of the memory. "There is nothing more to be done - but I have taken away some of her pain."

It was the mandrill, she realised, though there was none of his classic mischief infecting his words, no parables or metaphors. He was greeted first by silence.

Then, a low rumble. "Thank you, Rafiki."

She felt her heart splutter in her chest, leaping out to meet his - _Ahadi!_ it cried. _Ahadi! Come and tell me it will be alright._

With all her strength, she opened her eyes, and there he was – golden in the sunlight, his mane a black halo, and his green, green eyes, glossed over with pain. He stepped forward and touched his nose to her cheek. At first, it was like a bolt of lightning – then she hardly felt anything at all. She unstuck her tongue from within her mouth, opening her jaws that grazed over the dusty earth, summoning the barest scrap of air to speak.

"Sarabi," she breathed. "Sarafina."

"They're safe," he murmured.

"They were so brave," she whispered. "Such good huntresses. Caught a gazelle."

"They'll keep the pride strong and healthy," he affirmed, and she detected the tiniest hitch in his voice, the one only she knew, the one he hid so well from all others. He was comforting her, the best way he knew how. She had been born to lead this pride. To know it was safe – that all its children were safe, that they would be provided for – such things had been her gravest concern since before she had even met him. She wished she could reach him now, but she had not the strength to rise and nuzzle him, to lift her head from the dirt. She felt it in her bones. Time. She was running out of time. So little left.

She let out a deep sigh, swallowing the dull spasm of pain that gripped her body. "Where are the children?"

He turned wordlessly, looking behind him, and nodded towards her. She urged strength into her body now. She would make herself rise up. She would lick the tops of their heads as she had done when they were small, one last time, one last moment of her being mother to her beloved cubs.

She forced her eyes to remain open wide as they stepped into her vision, side by side. It was wrong – there were four of them. She made herself focus, she strained her eyes until she felt the pain lancing through her head, until they became two strong young lions looking down on her in fear and sorrow.

She wanted to memorise every inch of them, to take them with her when she went to join the ancestors. Mufasa, a ray of sun made flesh, round and big-boned like she was, solidity in his stature and kindness in every footfall upon the earth. Taka, who looked so much like his father, all angles and emerald eyes, save for his pelt – dirt brown like hers, the colour of the hard-packed soil of the savannah, a foundation, a fertile ground for good things to grow. Their manes were beginning to come in – one red as the dawn, the other black as night. She had seen them every day, had watched them turn from scrabbling, sightless newborns to strong, young princes – and yet now, only now, when she was sure she would lose them in an instant, not to be seen again for time immeasurable, that she truly realised how much they had grown.

She was glad they were together – glad they hadn't been with her when it happened. Who knows what they'd have done? Attacked in anger, gotten themselves hurt. Impulsive young boys, Great Kings bless them. Still, part of her knew what losing her would do to them. It surged to the front of her mind, a worry she knew that her short minutes left on this earth would never allay. Leaving the two of them here, with Ahadi, who for all his kingly knowledge had not the wisdom of a mother, and knew not the intricacies of his children's characters…it would not bode well. Even today– if she'd seen the end of today in one piece – she'd have had pieces to pick up, damage to repair, tempers to weather and hearts to mend.

She had hoped only Taka would go with Ahadi today. She'd hoped he'd have this chance to see the kingdom alone with his father, to feel that he was as much responsible for it as his brother, was as trusted as his brother. Her dear Taka – he grasped the subtleties of everything and the glaring truths of nothing. Of course she and Ahadi saw the brothers as equal, each as worthy as the other – but Taka did not see that. He saw what he wished to see. He embodied his name – _want._ He did not see what he already had.

Every day she spent loving the two of them with more than her heart had given her to share with them. Indeed, when was the last time she had lathered such affection upon her own mate? Not since the cubs were born. Her own mother had imparted the lesson to her – if you make every choice and decision with your children in mind, you will not falter. Not for them, not for your family, not for yourself. She could only give so much, however. When her children and mate negated those choices, what path could she take? When Taka's eagerness and ambition wilted in his heart to stalks of envy and betrayal; when Mufasa's desire to act in goodness and fairness and embody his duty blinded him from the true hearts of others and bid him take actions that seemed good to himself but were detrimental to others; when such things were the case, what more could she do? What more could a mother do than love her children and raise them in strength and fairness, and teach them the remedies of their failings, and heal them when they were broken?

A deep grief filled her. If only Mufasa had agreed to come with her today, instead of insisting he went with his father. Never mind if she'd died protecting him in the end; the damage would not be done, and the family would stay together. _Then again,_ she thought, _Taka sees blame in everything. No matter what happened, you know what he would believe._ Yes she knew her children's hearts, knew them with the same intricacy and depth as Ahadi knew the Pridelands. This would tear her sons apart.

"Come here," she whispered to them. "Ahadi, lift me up."

Silently, he sat behind her, gently raising her head so it rested on his flank, and she could watch her children without strain. They padded forward, settling on either side of her head, pressing as close to her as they could. Such peace she felt then – surrounded by the most important individuals in her life. They all felt so strong, so warm, so full of life and energy and love and joy in the world. _This is good,_ she thought to herself. _No matter what happens, this is good._

She licked the tops of her children's heads.

"I don't have much time left," she whispered.

"You can't die," Taka cut in, and the pain in his voice, deepening now as he grew, was like a thorn in her heart. "Not yet."

She touched her nose to his ear. He knew she would not survive this. Otherwise this Taka, the Taka of today, the one beyond childhood vulnerabilities, would never have said such things in the presence of his brother and father.

"Don't worry," she murmured, forcing her smile to reach her eyes, forcing air into the shallow breaths of her lungs, forcing the words out. "I'll… _always_ be with you. This is...just a body. My spirit...in the stars, yes?"

"The stars are so far away," Mufasa whimpered, tucking his head under her chin, young again, small again, scared in a time before he became brave. "This hurts. Too much."

With what strength she could still summon into muscle and bone, she licked his forehead. She could hardly feel her body now; could hardly sense her breath stirring the air. Still, she spoke. She would speak until she could not. "Of course, my son. This will cut you deep. But you…will survive. The cut will leave a scar. A scar...means you are strong. You survived. You can be brave... _must_ be brave...but not foolish...reckless. Now…look at me."

Twin pools – earth brown, grass green – met hers.

"Must take care of each other," she wheezed, as the sun darkened, as the world narrowed into the twin pools. She felt Ahadi's comforting purr beneath her, sank into him, held onto him as her anchor, kept her thought utterly bent on the two pairs of eyes – hers and his, now belonging to them, their legacies.

"Ahadi," she whispered. "My sons..."

The light dipped beyond the horizon, and a mournful wail went up, a call echoing between trees and across plains as the message spread throughout the savannah. The sun was setting on the time of Uru, mother of the Pridelands. Darkness fell swiftly, and the Great Kings looked out from their high places. Somewhere, between the bright spots of green and brown, she saw an empty patch in the sky, waiting for a new star, another light to guide the living through the darkness beyond sunset. She felt the weakness in her body fleeing, felt strength returning to huntress paws, the winds of night carrying her far from her forsaken vessel on the earth and up into the night.

And so she was not there, when the days drew down into enmity between sons and fathers and brothers, and blame became anger and hate. She was not there when the water buffalo came back, and came for Taka, and threw their horned heads in a frenzy to strike down another royal. She was not there to comfort him when he was left with a real, deep, bleeding scar of his own, more visible than the scars of grief that crisscrossed the hearts of all her bereaved family – one that neither killed him nor blinded him, for better or for worse. She was not there as he renamed himself in the memory of her words, half-real though they were, and shrouded by the mists of death. Strong enough to survive his own recklessness. Strong enough to embrace his true nature, no longer hiding behind 'Taka'. She was not there to lament the loss.


	2. QUEEN

**_A/N:_** _This is a monster of a chapter! 4k words, yikes. Anyway - some lion pride dynamics are ugly, but they do make for a good story, AU as it may be. Be warned that this particular chapter involves a Sophie's Choice scenario. I also play free and loose with semi-canonical concepts and characters here. I'm actually very uncertain about how this chapter turned out, and will probably rewrite it in future. I'll post this version for now so I can move on and tell the third – and final – part._

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Part II:

QUEEN

It was too easy, too generous to say that Sarabi felt numb. She was numbness itself, in all its uncaring loneliness, a silent weight reposing upon the shoulders of the half-alive, a vulture waiting to swoop in and pick clean the bones of the lost and wandering. She wondered if such creatures would be circling over Mufasa's body right now. She wondered if they'd caught up to Simba, dead or nearly dead, somewhere beyond her call, farther than her legs could carry her.

She'd searched for hours when she'd heard what had happened. Her stride unbroken, her mind singular, she'd pursued the memory of her son beaming that morning as he scampered out for the day's adventures. She'd run through the gorge, investigating every crack and crevice for a scrap of golden fur. Every time she turned aside, her search fruitless, her wide, dry eyes drifted back to her husband's lifeless body over which the others stood vigil. They couldn't _both_ be dead. This was some cruel joke of fate, designed to test her. She'd raced to the river, leaning out over the rapids, the spray splashing her, the eddies beckoning her, until the lionesses had called her away, and brought her back, and held her up until she'd finally lain down, not sleeping, alone on the pedestal in the main den. That was the first and only time she would do that. She resolved to rest with the other huntresses from now on.

Her legs, though stocky and strong from the daily pursuit of prey, trembled as she clambered down to one of the lower caves on Pride Rock. Whenever the pain came, it came as a wave, washing over the rock and shield of her numbness, wearing it away with every pulse and pull. It flooded over her now, sudden and uncompromising, tugging her to the ground and soaking her pelt, making every step a burden. In an instant, a dreadful and icy moment in the middle of a sunlit day, she'd had her life ripped from her, shredded beyond recognition, and cast to the wind, where it flew from her as a bird that for all her skill she could not catch.

Ahead, she could see Sarafina in the cave entrance, her brilliant blue eyes fixated out on the grasslands. She was younger than Sarabi by two years, and yet she'd grown faster than any other in her litter. She possessed a keener mind and greater vigour than the rest. They'd shared their first hunt, after all. And yet, strange as it was, Sarabi could never quite get used to the idea that Sarafina was a mother, also – a mother of two, no less – with children the same age as Simba.

Her heart twisted. She felt the tide coming in again, flooding around her paws. She stumbled over them as she trudged into the den, aching for sleep. She looked out under the low ceiling of rock, following her friend's line of sight.

Nala and Mheetu, sitting in the swaying stalks of dry grass with their other friends. They were all subdued today, seated closer to Pride Rock than usual, wary of the hyenas they knew were prowling around further out. Nala stayed close to her younger brother, standing protectively over his small, shivering frame. Now and then, one of the other cubs would bat at some flying thing, or knock someone over and scuffle in the dirt for a while. Playtime, however, was not as it had been. Simba was not there today to join in their games. He'd always been in the thick of it, leading his team when they played lions and hyenas, or clawing his way up a tree to investigate something the cubs had seen. Running, laughing, playing. In those moments, when she'd looked out at him, a star in the golden savannah, she'd felt as though she were pulled from time itself, as if she'd hit upon some great and ancient truth that lived in her son, beyond years and generations. Pure joy – joy in the world and all its wonders, joy in good company, joy in the sheer happiness of existing.

But he did not exist anymore. Not in this world. And all its wonders seemed dimmed, and false, and cruel, and the joy in being alive seemed unattractive and outlandish. Sarabi's heart twisted as she settled some way from Sarafina. She'd circled into as comfortable a position as she could find, body too heavy to hold up, heart too heavy to bear, when her friend's voice suddenly sounded, soft and fragile yet cutting the thick afternoon air like a knife.

"He's going to kill all the cubs tonight. Isn't he?"

In truth, Sarabi had not the heart to do any more than nod. Her pain would soon be no longer hers alone, she knew. The Pridelands would echo with the wailing of lionesses as the curtain of night, pocked with holes for the Great Kings to look through, full with the moon and the Great Spirit that looked out from it, drew itself silently over the sky above. Perhaps it was thought of this endless pit of despair, of legacies presided over by silent predecessors, a spirit and ancestors with the liberty to decide who lived and who died, observers that cared little for mercy and only for tradition. The bitterness surprised her, felt ugly in her blood, and yet perhaps it was indeed her anger at the Great Spirit that caused her to hear it. In the imagined wailing of the bereaved she heard an echo, and in the receding wave of pain she felt something arising within. Her people still looked to her for strength. Their king was dead, their young prince also - and the future loomed uncertain. The shreds of her life may have been cast into the wind, but the lives of the others in the pride were still bound to the land, flightless birds waiting to be pounced upon and ended. Such things could not be allowed. As mutinous as the thought felt, the Circle of Life was more real than the Great Spirit, more immediate than the Kings, and it was up to her to keep it in check. She was still the queen, and this was still her calling and her duty.

So she drew herself up with what strength remained in her bones, sat down in front of Sarafina, and dipped her head. "It will happen at sundown."

The younger lioness curled her paws underneath her, frowning at her own shadow. "Mufasa would never have done it."

"He would have," she said, even though the words tasted like poison in her mouth. "It the law of our ancestors. And though Ahadi's sickness came upon him quickly, he had still known he was going to die, just as we'd all quietly planned not to have cubs. Still, some of us barely escaped it. This...what happened this time...was too sudden."

"I wish such kindness could be given us now." Sarafina shook her head, her eyes glistening in the light of the afternoon. "We shall anger the Great Spirit and the ancestors if we act otherwise…won't we?"

"You don't have anything to worry about," said Sarabi, but the look on her friend's face stopped whatever words she'd planned to say next. Abject fear. It had clawed its way over Sarafina's features in the seconds it had taken for Sarabi to try and allay it. A bolt of puzzlement shot through her, and she leaned down until their eyes met. _"Do_ you have anything to worry about?"

Sarafina's breaths were coming heavy now, and Sarabi, alarmed, wound round her and pressed against her side. Sarafina's voice shook as she spoke. "One of them isn't his. One of them isn't his and _he_ _has never forgotten."_

It was as if the floor of the cave had dropped away, sending both lionesses flailing down into darkness and doubt. It took her several long moments to find her voice, and when she did, she shocked herself with how weak it sounded. "Nala."

At last, Sarafina let out a choking sob, and shut her eyes. "Nala." She drew in a heaving breath. "You all knew, of course you did. Anybody can see how little she looks like him. Every inch of her is different. You all never stopped whispering about it and that's why he loathes her."

"Fina _,"_ Sarabi whispered, shock and hurt and guilt rippling through her in a rushing tide. "He doesn't loathe her."

"He doesn't care about her either!" Her head was turned away, but the cave floor was damp with shed tears. "You thought I couldn't hear what they said about me. About _her_. It didn't matter that only _you_ knew the truth Sarabi. For all their gossip I may as well have told the whole pride! Sarafina, the idiot who couldn't stay true to her betrothed!"

Sarabi was rendered speechless. Sarafina's words stung like barbs and brambles and flooded over Sarabi in a tirade, a despairing litany of one who had kept quiet for too long.

"You've no idea how lonely it was," she mumbled, looking to the ground. "He'd changed, and we were bickering all the time, and I shouldn't have started what I did with that rogue. But I did, and I regretted it. I've never regretted Nala though, not for one instant. He hated me for it, I was certain of that. No matter how much I tried to keep up the lie, I could tell that he knew the truth. He knew, the pride knew, but everyone played along like it was some game or some story. He never forgave me and I can't blame him for it. I thought Mheetu would bring us back together, but he was so weak and small... the other lionesses whispered about me. I was too young, I was too dumb, my cubs were either bastards or cripples –"

"Fina!"

"– but oh, at least this one's father is a prince! That was the season Mufasa was crowned. And if it wasn't enough to watch his brother take the throne, he had to see his only true child barely able to live and watch my other cub grow stronger every day – the one that _wasn't_ his. No wonder he left me in the end. We could only keep up the ruse for so long…"

 _"Fina,"_ Sarabi soothed, licking her friend's ears. They were warm from her anger and exertion; almost feverish. Sarabi kept grooming her friend, concerned and upset. How had she not stepped in? She was supposed to look out for all subjects, especially the lionesses. She was a hunter, a mother, and most importantly a queen and a friend to them. How had she not seen this, and stopped it? Was it Sarafina's demure nature, never speaking a word of her discomfort to anyone? Was it Nala's jovial integration into the pride, to the point that nobody ever spared a thought as to who her parents were? How had her mother's pain gone unnoticed?

"Nala never had the protection of royalty," Sarafina muttered suddenly. "I know you tried to save that, by betrothing her to your son. It didn't work. The lionesses whispered that night too. She's all alone."

"Give me the names of the lionesses who whispered," Sarabi said firmly. "I haven't heard them, so it's surely those not in my hunting party. Tell me, and I'll change their minds."

"Sarabi…"

"We all love Nala," she went on, slowly now, softly, as though she were speaking to a cub. Simba's face flashed in her mind, and she felt sorrow pooling around her paws once more. She shuddered, as if feeling the water, and Sarafina looked up at her. The queen went on, pushing aside her grief. "I know the things they say about you hurt – but take comfort in the fact that we all love Nala. Really. Most of the lionesses don't care that her father is a rogue; they've even let go of their disapproval at you abandoning your mate."

"I should have moved on," Sarafina whispered. "I had to come back for their sake. They needed the pride. Now, though...now all they need is life, and by bringing them here I've robbed them of it."

"You need to speak to him," Sarabi began. "Convince Scar to spare her –"

"Don't call him that."

A bolt of anger shot through her. "I'll call him what he calls himself. Taka is dead, Sarafina. If you cling to him, you will never survive what he has become."

"He is not what he has become."

"If only he could understand that. But he does not." Sharper words rested on the tip of Sarabi's tongue. _Your delusion will get both your children killed, Sarafina. Your blind faith in an old love will not weather the fact that it has changed._

Sarabi knew what she had to do. For Sarafina's sake and for the sake of the pride. Strength - she felt it in her paws again. Not the boldness of a noontide sun nor the greenness of the grass after healthy rains - the hardness of granite, the tough raging of the river. What she needed to do would be barbaric. She felt it in her gut, in her heart, clawing at her brain. She knew, though, that it was the only way anything good would come of tonight's slaughter. If she was to help her friend make an impossible choice, she would.

She rose, and the waters of pain slid off her back like her fur was proofed against them. She was still a ruler of the Pridelands. She yet harboured the skills bestowed upon her by her years of leading the pride, of navigating the good and the bad beside Mufasa. She didn't have him now. So be it. She would rely on her queen's mind, on her wiles. Duty – it thrummed in her paws as she padded to the den entrance.

"Where are you going?" Sarafina squeaked.

"To speak to my brother-in-law."

"Sarabi, please!" Sarafina called, but the Queen did not look back.

* * *

"Scar," she called, standing silhouetted in the entrance of the cave.

"Ah, sister." He slunk from the shadows, materialising from them as though from some dark vapour. His eyes, that had years ago gleamed warm as the sun-drenched grasses of the savannah, were hard and cold. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The ceremony is tonight."

"I have the hornbill to manage my agenda, you needn't fret."

A wave of disgust washed over her. "Have you no shame? Do you have any idea what you are tasked with doing tonight?"

"You think I don't?" he hissed suddenly, narrowing his eyes. "Tell me how you brilliantly _you_ function when drenched in grief, Sarabi. I'm truly fascinated."

She almost hit him then – and she might have, if she'd been any another lioness. She knew him, though. She had grown up beside him. She had played with him as cubs, had learned him as the closest of friends did, had mourned alongside his brother when he had chosen to revel in his bitterness and loathing and abandon who he had once been. She could read his eyes even if they were shuttered and bleak. She could read the sadness, and the anger. Lashing out to hurt her so he would feel better about his own pain. She'd seen this before, in her friends, in her subjects, and countless times in he himself. Callousness, his rock and shield. A kind of sympathy stirred in her. He was hardly indifferent about killing those cubs.

She chose, therefore, to knead the ground with her claws. He was as adept as she was in such subtleties, more than Mufasa ever was; he'd understand. Indeed, though his eyes barely shifted to see her action, he leaned back, the only admission she would get from him that he'd overstepped a bound.

"This will be difficult for you," she said.

"The Great Spirit and the Kings need their pound of flesh," he said, voice low, but not negating her.

"I know that."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because Sarafina is worried for her children, and I want to know what you intend to do."

There it was again – pain. She saw it in the minute bristling of his fur, and the way his claws skittered quietly over the stone as he shifted to raise his chin, look away, project indifference and strength. She braced herself for the scathing words, and they came, ripping out of his throat like sharp claws.

"Ah. Our _beloved_ 'Fina'."

"Scar, please."

"Oh, but did you not hear how vehemently she assured me the first cub was mine? Surely she needn't worry." The bitter sarcasm in his voice was liked acid.

"That 'first cub' has a name.

"I care not."

"I think you do. Otherwise, you'd have killed her by now. Scar…" She stepped forward before he could speak, imploring him. "I'm not here to reassure you on Sarafina's lie. I'm not interested in your separation, or that Nala bears no relation to you at all. That doesn't matter. What matters is that you have to kill one of Sarafina's children tonight."

"Pleading the life of a cub will achieve nothing."

"I have not come to plead." She sat and settled herself, not breaking her gaze. "I have come to negotiate."

"I'm listening," he said, narrowing his eyes.

She swallowed, pushing aside the image of her son flaring to life in her mind, questioning the atrocious thing she was about to do. The fear and bafflement in his eyes. The probing, incisive questions only a child could ask. She could not think of Simba. She thought of the Pridelands instead. She thought of what she knew her brother-in-law valued, what might win him over, what might make this transgression worth anything.

"The dry season is coming, Scar," she said. "You will need strong hunters, fit enough to weather the hard days and catch enough prey for all of us to eat well. You will need an heir that will survive that and prosper."

"Your point being?"

"You'll ensure success and strength for all of us. There are six cubs now. Five must die. You're the King now, and have a right to speak to the heavens." She steeled herself. She was granite and sandstone, enduring and unchangeable. _She had just lost her husband and child to death and misfortune._ She was the Queen, as strong as Pride Rock itself. _She was a queen in mourning, who should be loathe to give up any more cubs to the afterlife._

And yet.

"Do you remember the game we used to play as children?" she asked, before she lost her nerve.

"Hm." The sudden change of topic seemed to throw him for a moment; but his recovery was swift, and he turned aside, padding to the edge of his cave where it overlooked the savannah. "I tend not to linger on frivolities and failures."

"Yes." Bitter amusement bloomed inside her. "When it wasn't a mind game, you lost often enough. Do you remember how you won?"

She heard his barely suppressed growl. "Sarabi, it's the middle of the afternoon. I'm tired. Get on with it."

"The game stayed the same, but you changed the rules." Her tail whipped over the floor, annoyance unbridling itself inside her. "You outwit us beyond anything we'd anticipated. We were angry, but you'd still won. This – this ritual, this tradition, the throne and the kingship – this is just another game you have to play. You'll anger the lionesses, you might anger the Kings and the Great Spirit, but you will win."

He turned to look at her, finally interested. She held his gaze. She chose her words, her son's shadow peeking in on her thoughts as she said them. She was helping this atrocity happen. _She was saving the pride and keeping hope alive._

"Ask it of the ancestors to trade the places of Nala and Mheetu in their ranks," she said.

There was silence in the cave for a moment. Only the wind whistled through the drying grasses. At last, Scar spoke.

"You have a pleasant ruthlessness in you, sister, did you know that?"

"One of needed to have it," she said, almost too softly. "Mercy alone cannot run a kingdom."

"So I have you to credit for some of the better decisions over the years."

"Don't," she bit out. "Don't, Scar. Let me regain some normalcy before you begin insulting him again."

"Funny thing," he murmured, and his eyes seemed to look elsewhere. "Insults were the norm between my brother and I. It seems like an insult to his memory to stop after his death – which is utterly paradoxical."

Sarabi sighed heavily. "So? What will you do?"

"You know I am not one to put posterity above practicality."

"A certain ruthlessness."

"Yes. However, he is my only male heir."

"He is going to die, and soon."

And unbidden, her mind's eye showed her Simba. He, who had been Mufasa's only male heir, who'd perished, trodden into the earth by wildebeest hooves. Her paws felt weak. She imagined herself in her husband's place – this was not the first time in the past day that she had – and she wondered what he would think. His only son, his legacy, wiped from the earth. This child he loved more than life itself.

She swallowed the sob rising in her throat, pushed it down like floodwaters drowning a continent. Smother your pain by bending it back on itself; wrap it tight in callousness and coolness. Learn from _him,_ he who still survived, even if it was an ugly lesson, one she wished she was above.

Weakness was a thing he loathed, and what did creatures loathe in others that they did not detest in themselves? Such thought applied to Sarafina's cubs. That which came from him he saw suffer in illness and frailty and malcontent; that which came from beyond – strong, brave Nala – prevailed. That outshone him. He should love to dominate it, to end it, to tread it into the dirt and never have to hear of it again. However, Sarabi was sure it was not what his decision would hinge on. She anticipated it. He would be beyond that.

Scar was not his brother. She was as certain of it as she was the Circle of Life. He did not value his children simply by blood, even if Mufasa may have. Value came from assets, from what they gave – emotionally, physically, in loyalty, in toughness, in skill – and what he returned was his to determine, and came only after the payment. It was a part of him – of this new lion, this lion that was not Taka, that was changed. Worst of all though, Mheetu represented a crutch. A veil over betrayal. A hush up, a scam, a ruse. That was even more beyond him.

It was an ugly truth. _It was a truth that would save Nala._

"I will concede, Sarabi, that for once in your life you are right," Scar said, drawing her out of her thoughts as a light draws the drowning from deep waters. "He is going to die. Tonight."

Her voice stuck in her throat, and the air felt sharp in her lungs as she inhaled. "And Nala?"

He narrowed his eyes to bright green slights, all judgement, though veiled in intent. "She is not my daughter. She never has been, and never will be. Perhaps she will be my protégé. Perhaps she will simply exist, unremarkably. Sarafina will suffer the anger and jealousy of her pridesisters for Nala being spared. They know she is a cub like any other, no more special to their king than a stone. Still, in time, they'll accept it. They always do. And when they do, do as you have done today, and negotiate. Let it be known why I spared her. Let it be known that I am merciful."

He turned away from her, pacing back to his cave as he cast one last look out over the Pridelands, to the distance, beyond the rocky outcropping, where the cubs had at last dared to venture and jump around. "She will be a bond on the pride. A promise. If we are to risk the wrath of the heavens to save Sarafina's little girl, she had better prove useful to me in the future."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ **_This was harder to write than the previous chapter. I'd always wanted to explore more interactions between Sarabi and Scar, so that is my favoured segment. Still, I worry of having some explaining to do. I hope I made Scar's rationale for killing Mheetu and sparing Nala clear. He was content enough to kill his brother – I don't think he'd be above killing his own son if that son was an obstruction to power or success. He's ruthless like that. I realise I didn't clarify why this cub-killing ritual is done (it'd likely have a more theological reason than mere assertion of power, as it is in the natural world), so that may be something for the rewrite!_

 _And if the backstory wasn't clear enough, it's essentially that Sarafina was betrothed to Taka, but during a troubled time in their courtship had an illicit relationship with a rogue, producing Nala. She tried to mend the damage by birthing Mheetu, but he came at an inopportune time, and his weakness, compared to Nala's strength, and coupled with Sarafina's betrayal, led Scar to cut all ties with her._


	3. HUNTRESS

_**A/N:**_ _This is it! Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this so far. I will answer my reviewers (at this time) in a short note at the bottom._ _This chapter, unlike the first, links more closely with its predecessor. It does centre around 'The Madness of King Scar' and the repercussions thereof, though it shall hardly be black-and-white, since I prefer not to deal in moral or emotional absolutes._ _The only warning is for indirect reference to mature themes._

* * *

Part III:

HUNTRESS

The role of a huntress was clear - seek, obtain, provide. Moreover, a huntress did not flee – a huntress pursued. Yet here she was, scampering down the slopes and steps of Pride Rock as fast as her paws would take her, digging in with her claws as she slid ever downward towards the safety of the earth, as far from that cave as possible.

His voice was stuck in her ears like honey, and was as cloyingly sweet. Each word stung her brain like a bee, repeating endlessly, like she was some dumb cub who couldn't pull herself away from it.

 _"Dear, sweet Nala," he crooned. "This is the only way, don't you see? We can save the pride - bring new life into a dead land. All you have to do is say 'yes'."_

 _She shook her head. He both made sense and did not make sense. He was perfectly right, and this was perfectly wrong. He knew her fears, and she should hate him for using them - but he was not using them, not really. He was simply speaking the plain truth, a truth she was not ready to hear. Her heart pounded in her ears as he edged in closer then, his sweet words taking on a bitter edge - a beast prowling out of sight, hidden among sunlit grasses._

 _"What would your mother think?" he murmured. "And your pridesisters? The Great Spirit stole so many of our cubs that day, and the drought steals the new litters. You could bring back what was taken from you - from all of us. Be my queen."_

 _"No, Scar," she whispered, denying everything, every word, every idea, because she could not afford to agree._

 _"You know you really have no choice. One way or another, I need strong cubs, cubs that will survive these troubled times. You are strong, Nala-"_

 _\- she hated the way he said her name, rhyming syllables that rolled off his tongue, appraising, intimate, enunciated in a way no other had ever said it - it wasn't his to say, there was only one who should ever have said it like that, and he was long gone - and his eyes flashed, emeralds in the dark, as if they could see through her flesh and pierce her thoughts - and she backed into a corner, panic heating her up, for surely it was panic -_

 _"-you're the strongest. That's why the Great Spirit spared you. You were meant to rule by my side. One way or another, you will be mine."_

 _He stepped too close. It became too real. She struck him and fled, his humourless laugh ringing in her ears._

Her breath came shallow, her heart pounding as she landed heavily on the ground, swamped and hidden in the nighttime shadows. She had to calm herself. She could not be master of anything if she could not even master her own fear, her own trembling legs. As her stride slowed, reaching the lowest caves, she glanced down at her paws. The edges of her claws, still extended until the quicks, were tipped with blood. Hot and red. His. She'd cut him enough to bleed. Panic slipped into her throat - a different panic, a more mortal panic. The kind that reminded her it was a crime to strike a king, and most especially a king like him.

She tried to resist the urge to glance back, to see if he was watching her, or sending his hyenas after her. _Focus on what lies ahead. What you can do._

She could go to her mother. Sarafina would know what to do. She wouldn't have to worry about giving half-answers to Nala's burning questions this time; she could be a balm, someone to comfort Nala and advise her and help her manage the repercussions of what she'd just done.

She strode carefully into the cave. In this moment she desired to be around the other lionesses - the pridesisters still quietly loyal to Sarabi, at least. Strong and powerful mothers and daughters, the ones who did not fear, who did not submit. Yet as their heads turned to greet her, she felt almost ill, as if she'd been caught in the midst of something illicit, and the warmth in their faces would soon turn to disgust. For that feeling alone, she suddenly hated him even more.

"Nala?" her mother called, rising from her place at the back of the cave. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head numbly, padding forward. She was more than this. She was a huntress, she was a pridesister, a loyal daughter, someone who would have been a princess if fate had been kinder. _Someone who could still be queen._

The thought was like a burn. She shook her head, trying to cast the embers onto the cold stone floor and snuff them out.

"Something buzzing round your ears?" came a deep, kind voice.

Nala turned sharply, then relaxed. Sarabi. The queen was padding into the den, trailed by a group of lionesses dragging a singular young gazelle.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, the words coming easily from how often she'd said them. Sarabi was too smart to accept them as they were, but also too wise to press.

"Divide the meat," she commanded her hunting party, padding over to Nala. "The king and cubs eat first."

The young lioness's heart sank. "It's less than yesterday."

"It's all we managed to keep from the hyenas," she said voice low. "Truthfully, I think the only reason they let us pass is because we pleaded the case of the cubs. Shenzi is tough, but she is not cruel. It was a good thing she was there today to negotiate rather than one of her other buffoons."

"But you're not going to give them the whole gazelle to Zira's family, are you?"

" _Tch._ Of course not." Sarabi's noble features slid into a frown. "She is almost finished nursing her youngest. They can make do with less from now on, like all of us."

"I…" her voice trailed off into a whisper. "I'll range further tomorrow morning. I'll make sure we have enough."

"Thank you, Nala," the queen said quietly. "We wouldn't bring much home without you."

Nala managed a small smile, and a respectful dip of her head, before she padded over to her waiting mother. She couldn't help that she still kept a guard up around the former queen. Something hadn't been right between her and Sarafina and Nala for a long while. Nala had her suspicions. She was no fool. The day relations became strained was the day Mheetu died and she survived. Such things were no mere coincidence. Sarabi had had a part in the outcome of that dreadful night, though Nala knew not the extent. It was excruciatingly difficult to feel resentment or loathing; Sarabi was a good queen and had been an excellent mother. Nala could not but admire her, no matter her actions, because they were always with the pride in mind.

The pride. Was she, Nala, spared for the sake of the pride? It had been so dreadful that night, waking up away from the main den, with another pridesister by her side instead of Sarafina. And when her mother had returned, shuddering and sobbing and overwhelmed with crippling grief, it had all come over her. The sorrow, the relief, the disgust, the anger, the hate; the explanations of ancient rituals, the puzzling to understand the players within them. For moons, it had haunted Nala like a spectre, following her into adulthood along with the mingled stares of pity and bitterness from mothers made ordinary lionesses in the span of one night. The declaration of her worth as the only living cub, a preservation and promise - there had been something more in those words the king had spoken to the stars.

She knew what, now.

She wasn't meant for this, though. She couldn't be. Why should she be? Why should the Great Spirit have spared her and not Mheetu, or any of the others? Just so she could be a mate and mother when the pride needed it? So she could become _his?_ Was this the fate that Mheetu died for?

She slumped down onto the cool rock in front of her mother. Little dots of green flashed in her vision, like she'd looked to long at the sun, and now, consigned to shadow, saw only its pale echoes.

"What happened?" Sarafina murmured, settling next to her. Nala merely shook her head. Her mother, for all her faults, knew her well enough, and instead began to gently groom her ears and head as she'd used to do. It had been a long time, Nala realised - not since Mheetu's death had her mother truly held her like this, nor had she let herself be held. She'd not realised how truly alone she'd let herself become, alienated from her pridesisters, bereft of friends who had died in her place.

She tried to push the painful thoughts as far from her mind as she could. She focused on the ache in her bones, the muscles she'd pulled while fleeing the king's den, the grumbling in her stomach. She would eat last tonight, if there was anything left once Scar, the cubs, and huntresses had fed. One single young gazelle. That was what their noble pride had come to.

"I'm starving," she sighed.

"We all are, sweet thing," Sarafina mumbled.

"Saying it makes me feel better."

"I know." She paused in her grooming, looking her daughter in the eye. "Keep saying it. Never accept this as normal, Nala."

She looked up, desperate, seeking comfort from the sudden strength in her mother's gentle eyes. Her skin felt hot beneath her fur, and her mouth was dry. Sarafina's eyes filled with confusion, and twinkled with unease. Then, she glanced down at Nala's paw, the fur tipped in red, and her eyes widened.

"Nala…" she breathed. "Whose -"

"He wants me to be his queen," she said, before she lost her nerve.

Sarafina stared at her, her mouth dropping open and her eyes filling with sorrow as she turned away, looking to the cave floor. "Oh Kings, no…"

"What am I going to do?" she hissed, her voice cracking. "He's going to do something horrible now. What if - what if he tries to…"

"He wouldn't." She shook her head vehemently, and in her eyes was deep hurt and desperate denial. "He's not like that. But he might very well banish you for saying no. You did say no, didn't you?"

"Of course I said no! But he…he can't banish me."

"He can," she muttered. "Even if we tried to defend you, he has the hyenas, and half the pride is on his side."

Nala couldn't help but glance over at Zira and her children, glaring at the measly portion of meat the hunting party was bringing to them. Her loyalty to the king was unquestionable. No, there would be no support from her, or the other lionesses who were on her side.

"Why wasn't she enough?" Nala whispered.

Sarafina swallowed a sigh. "You know why. Her eldest is weak, her middle child is a girl, and her youngest…"

"He isn't hers."

"Shhh." Sarafina's eyes widened.

"We all know it."

"But Scar doesn't - not yet - and we need to keep it that way."

 _"Why?"_

"Because you know exactly what would happen otherwise."

Nala shook her head, suddenly full of ire. "He'd not stupid," she spat. "He's spared someone else's cub before. He knows what he wants, and it's not weakness. That cub looks stronger than his siblings. He'll be thrilled."

"Nala - don't let your hatred take over you like this." She nudged her daughter to her feet. "What we want is usually what torments us most."

"Nala?"

She jumped to her paws, staring at the cave entrance. Sarabi was looking at her, puzzled and anxious. She must have just returned from bringing Scar's portion of the kill.

"Yes?"

"The king wants to see you," she sad, carefully.

Her stomach turned. "Did…did he say why?"

Sarabi simply looked at her. "Those three hyenas of his are standing guard. I'll come with you."

Her gaze was troubled. She would surely have seen the scratches. She almost certainly knew. Only now, Nala realised the den had gone deathly quiet. The other pridesisters were staring at her.

"What does he want with _you?"_

Nala spun, too on edge for composure. Zira was stalking towards her, her cubs watching from their corner of the cave.

"How should I know?" she hissed, her fur rising.

"Tell us, Sarabi," Zira growled. "What does the king want with her?"

"That is none of our concern," the former queen said evenly.

"Oh, isn't it?" she looked down her nose at Nala. "This is supposed to be our best huntress, after all. The bond on us pride sisters. Surely we've a right to know."

The disdain in her voice brought to life a dormant anger in Nala's heart, and before she could check herself, she'd blurted out the truth. "He wants me for his queen."

Several of the lionesses gasped. Sarafina hung her head. Zira's mouth dropped, and for a moment her eyes filled with hurt - swiftly, however, it became anger, and she began to pace back and forth.

"So _that's_ why you were spared."

"I had no say in it," Nala said, and meant her words. Her mind saw Mheetu, small, fragile, good. Her Mheetu - her baby brother. Slaughtered like an antelope and left for the vultures.

Bile tickled the back of her throat, and she averted her eyes.

"Pathetic," Zira spat. "You'd be a worthless queen."

She looked toward the dark-pelted newborn napping beside his sister. The little lioness glared at Nala, circling protectively round her little brother and obscuring him from view. Nala knew that look - knew that fear. Her heart burned in her chest, and bloomed into anger. What Scar had taken from her had been returned to him, and would forever be his. What use did he have of her now, really? If that young cub were to survive, what was the point of killing Mheetu and sparing her in the first place? True rage filled her, and a desire to hurt.

"I'm surprised you'd insult your beloved king's choices," she snapped.

"You are to blame!" she growled suddenly, her claws shooting out to scrape on the ground. "If you weren't sauntering and simpering after attention he'd have a clearer mind to see who is truly loyal to him."

"Me? Simpering? Please, Zira," Nala growled, feeling angry, feeling cruel. "I'm not the one going after him every hour of every day. That cub of yours isn't even his."

"How dare you-"

"He turned you away because you failed him twice, so you found someone else to fulfil your simpering promises to him."

 _"Shut up,"_ she hissed.

"Nala," Sarabi warned.

"He won't care," she growled, her vision clouded by anger and hurt and sorrow. "The only thing he cares about is power. And what did you give him? Weakness."

A weight impacted with her before she could even put her paws up. The hard rock of the cave cracked against her bones. Zira's claws raked down her side – her teeth snapped inches from her ears – and then the weight lifted, and she saw Sarabi, and unmatched fire in her eyes, hauling Zira by the scruff and thrusting her unceremoniously to the ground.

"Enough!" roared Sarabi. "Enough!"

Two Pridesisters flanked the former queen before the disgraced Zira could rise, and she crouched on the ground, teeth bared and hissing. Sarabi's head swivelled between the two younger lionesses, and Nala quailed. There was such devastating anger and sorrow in Sarabi's eyes, and never had such things been directed at her. She had the sinking feeling that she'd let her down.

"Have you not had your fill of pain? Both of you will ceases this violence at once. Nala. Sarafina. Come with me right now."

The two of them followed Sarabi, followed by Zira's low roar of anger as they padded out into the darkness. They followed the most shadowed paths, moving carefully through the landscape they knew by heart, steering clear of any and all watchful eyes, until they were just beyond Pride Rock, past the sleeping hyenas. When they finally arrived in a dip in the land, sheltered by trees and tumbled rocks, Sarabi stopped.

"Nala, you need to leave," she said softly. "He'll banish you, if Zira doesn't kill you first."

"But the pride -"

"Will survive," Sarafina finished. Her eyes glistened with pain, but her jaw was firmly set. "Sarabi is right. You'll have a chance to find more food, to find help, to be safe until…"

"Until what?" Nala's heart sank.

"Until things change," Sarabi said. "It won't be like this forever, Nala. Whatever food or help you can find, find it. If you can bring it back, all the better. If not, we'll be content to know one of our best lionesses is alive and well and away from those who would harm her."

Her mother stepped forward, nuzzling her, and Nala felt tears springing to her eyes. She pressed back, knowing in her heart that she had to do this. If her mother willed it - if Sarabi willed it - if it could get her away from this place - perhaps she had to go through with it.

"Good luck," said Sarabi, touching Nala's cheek with her nose. "Run like the wind."

Nala looked back at the two brave lionesses with hope and love and grief in their eyes, before bounding through the grasslands, her heart pumping, her muscles working to bring her as far from her home as they could. As she ran, she couldn't help but think what she was running from.

Her thoughts were still troubled - and not, she thought, for the right reasons. His words were still like honey rather than poison. She was still repeating them in her mind - the same way he'd repeated her name when he'd spoken to her, as if it was some mantra to attain what she couldn't, and wouldn't, give him. Or would she?

Why had she hesitated before striking him? Why had she ignored the first gentle flick of his tail against her flank as he circled her, so languorous, so careful, so obvious in intent? She wouldn't have done nothing, not in another life - not if there hadn't been a drought, or death, or long moons after the day she'd lost her best friend. Her _betrothed._ She knew what that meant now - what it could have meant. She'd lost her reason to ever say no.

She hated that. She hated that she was this consumed with loneliness, so terribly craven that it gnawed away at her with more veracity than drought-driven hunger pangs. It was solitude turned primal, a need for vitality and rejuvenation. She hated that someone was giving her that option - no less someone she loathed, someone she'd taught herself to loathe, casting aside the excuses made for his actions that day, waving aside slaughter as mere kingship and duty. The hungriest lions ate whatever they could find, a fact she'd learned from reality's insistent press. The need in her heart and flesh was reaching a similar threshold of desperation. In this state of mind and body, she could almost desire him.

She hated it. It scared her, made her think of what dreadful things she might let herself do if she gave in. Huntresses could not be scared.

She could hardly claim ignorance, she realised. This has not been the first time he'd looked at her that way - not the first time he'd used that tone of voice when addressing her. She'd just been too blind to acknowledge it until it was staring her in the face. She'd been too comfortable in the past. She'd been too content to pretend the Pridelands could be as they were even as they fell into ruin.

He was preying on her, savouring each bite as he pulled her apart by the sinews of her fears, claiming her piece by piece until she would be entirely his. She was a huntress, however, and such a state of affairs blasphemed against the very laws of nature. She needed to turn aside, to abandon the old world because it was changing and leaving her behind. It was full of desire and decadence now, a landscape of need and neglect. She needed to read the new terrain and find a way out. She was a huntress. She knew how to do that. She'd merely have to tread carefully upon the foreign path, seek out the new road, find help or a better life. Build a new Prideland, rather than trying to salvage the old one.

She ran through the night, listening out for the yipping of any hyenas, eyes on the horizon and what hopes might lie beyond it. She was a huntress, and she would not be hunted.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** My lovely reviewers –  
_ _To CandyLuv99 – Thank you. You were the first and for that I'm grateful. You were also very astute in your suggestions for this chapter (as reviewed in ch.2), as it was exactly the rationale and direction I was going in! I'm happy you caught that and hope you enjoyed this conclusion.  
_ _To Guest, who used to write under T5Tango – Thank you for your immensely generous words. I'm glad I could do a character so dear to you justice.  
_ _To Scissor Lizard – Thank you. There is no higher compliment.  
_ _To Money100 - Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the story._

 _Thank you again to all readers – past, present, and future._


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